<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>God Forbids &amp; the Devil Fears by PhantomOfDecadence</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689864">God Forbids &amp; the Devil Fears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomOfDecadence/pseuds/PhantomOfDecadence'>PhantomOfDecadence</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU!Bookship Will, AU!No cannibals, AU!Righteous Hannibal, Angst, Autistic Will Graham, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Panic, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is a Mess, Hannibal is scruffy, Hunting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Pining, Pretentious, Religious Discussion, gay thoughts, hannibal is still a murderer though, hannibal tries to be polite, so is will but he has standards for fuckssake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:34:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomOfDecadence/pseuds/PhantomOfDecadence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving from town to town is exhausting work to keep your face hidden and your hobbies going, but it's worth it to find that crushing high.</p><p>Hannibal drags himself all over the country, following specific people to kill and following a strict set of rules he laid for himself, struggling to keep his blood lust under wraps. He soon finds himself in dreary town called Oak Creek and coming face to face with a local who is too curious for his own good.</p><p>Albeit, he intrigues Hannibal too, but he is left to wonder if he wants to kill the local or treat him like a delicate rose, blooming in winter's chrysalis...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>God Forbids &amp; the Devil Fears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Because we all fucking love putting religion where it doesn’t belong. Also I tentatively made Will on the autistic spectrum ((I will be doing my best to portray autism correctly and read up on it, please let me know if things need to be fixed. I want to do this right))</p><p>The POV is not set in stone, I just wanted to open it with something different, going between first person and second was very interesting and I hope it gives insight on characters. So I will likely switch it to third if the next chapter gets written, or keep it like this. IDK, its a toss up</p><p> </p><p>The title will become so relevant later</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Towns all look the same, especially when they were all small and in the middle of nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>I move between them often, just stay long enough to admire my handiwork and then I move on for my next target. Leaving what I had done behind me, before they could figure out who had done it.<br/>
Where was the fun in being found?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I try not to show my face in the towns I grace, I play a guise that I am visiting friends, family, relations or on my way to see them.</p><p>So I stop in a place to rest, a sleepy village that hides a monster. It’s only for a few days at most, I hardly ever eat in a restaurant unless I am stalking, or I get something quick to sate my hunger. And even then, my stomach will not settle for it.</p><p> </p><p>In all the towns I visit, I find nothing to delight in besides the people that they hold within them, those who have not properly answered for their crimes. They walk among the others with their shoulders unburdened and their minds dark, on the prowl for their next victim, warily searching.</p><p>Their faces and names, dragged through the mud and branded traitors to mankind and humanity. Some were even locked up and away from the humanity they tried to destroy. Those creatures were the sloppy and messy, only focused chasing the high.</p><p> </p><p>Others I knew, were more careful, calculated and didn’t get caught, didn’t get their due even though they left carnage in the wake of their high.</p><p> </p><p>I knew that high, I craved it. Like all of them.<br/>
The high was something that I couldn’t live without. </p><p>Was it an addiction?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>I never really thought about calling it an addiction, it was a desire to me. Something I could control, something that I had strength over.<br/>
An addiction is an urge that had power over its victim.</p><p>I would not let the blood lust that curled in my chest to control me, it tried to. Often times when I looked upon a face too soft for this world, too soft for this time.<br/>
I did not often give those rushing thoughts too much consideration in the long run, I knew that I should. When I have the time.</p><p>But I didn’t have the time, not now.</p><p> </p><p>I was in a new place, looking for a new face, and finding a new desire.</p><p> </p><p>All these towns looked the same.<br/>
They were all sleepy, with aimless people wandering the streets. Disguised in neutral colors, abandoned effects, cobblestones and dirt roads. Diners, mom&amp;pop shops, locals and hardly hints of modern urbanization. Everyone knew everyone, and they didn’t take kindly to an unkind face they have never seen before.</p><p> </p><p>So you have to smile, blend in, pretend you’re one of them - normal, at least; but on the inside you are screaming endlessly and desperately craving for a rushing, dizzy high. A desperation to see red dripping from a wound you made on their exposed throat as their tongue wagged with senseless words, and to the look of shock and stunned silence on the faces of those that surrounded you, the face in front of you.</p><p> </p><p>The thought of it made my mouth water, my hands shake with anticipation on the steering wheel, and my chest crushed with a weight, like I had been sunk deep in the dark depths and been made to stay there, the pressure choking excited gasps from my lungs until I was drowned by the waves of the ocean.<br/>
These are the moments where I was powerless, the crescendo of my high - when euphoria rolled through me in waves, and I lost all sense of control.<br/>
It hardly ever reached that point, outside of the smooth slide of my knife against uneven skin.</p><p> </p><p>This town was different. I could feel it the moment I drove past the sign that welcomed me into Oak Creek, or perhaps it was just the sinking unease that trickled through me like an impeded stream when I saw the deteriorating sign of that godforsaken fast food restaurant that so many people fattened themselves at.</p><p>It’s yellows and reds well faded over time in this dusty little village that didn’t see fit to continuously update it.</p><p> </p><p>I would’ve considered this place abandoned with its looming and dark buildings that were worn with the years of neglect; but Oak Creek’s residents seemed none too concerned about the gloomy haze and bitter cold that rolled over the sky, holding a threat of snow over them.</p><p>They didn’t care. They continued to roam the streets, all bundled in fleece coats. It was almost admiral how people in this dreary town continued their aimless patterns in the cold.</p><p> </p><p>The drive past the buildings and to the motel was a short one, on a winding road that dodged small, nestled grey shacks that remained under maintained.</p><p>When I came upon the motel, I took note of how well it fit in well with the rest of Oak Creek with a tilt of my head; sleepy and cold and deteriorated, like the rest of the town.<br/>
The roof and grounds covered in a fresh blanket of snow, the dark wooden structure was sparse from decoration, save for a sign that read the name of the motel which I barely registered in the back of my mind.</p><p>It was the only lodgings in town, after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I slowed my car to a stop in front of the motel, turning it off and slowly resting back against the leather seat as I watched the dreary outside in order to collect my thoughts in a neat line.<br/>
I began to wonder why those I stalked, kept to themselves in small towns that were underpopulated. Where people are unlikely to speak about the acts they witness or the people that pass through, because they knew better than to talk about other people’s business.</p><p> </p><p>If my prey wanted a chance, then why not find a populated city?</p><p> </p><p>They would be more likely to be found by someone that wasn’t me, perhaps it was the assumption that small towns like Oak Creek didn’t care. And they didn’t, they kept their nose out of private matters unless it concerned the community directly.<br/>
But, I like to think my prey enjoyed the hunt, the thrill of the chase.</p><p> </p><p>Mutual respect, perhaps?</p><p>Make it easy to dispose of putrid waste?</p><p>Kind of them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Why do towns exist, little places like these, without much foot traffic or tourism? How do they make their income, how do they willingly feed off of one another and fight their neighbor for profits?<br/>
How do they justify it?</p><p> </p><p>Do they?</p><p>Or is it something unspoken, untold and unfixed?</p><p> </p><p>No tourist attraction, no myths, legends or killers.<br/>
That they knew of.</p><p> </p><p>Towns like this surely had no discourse to them, they were a still lake who never had its surface disturbed by wind, leaf or rock. Intentional or not.<br/>
Where was the vibration of enjoyment?</p><p> </p><p>These thoughts careened in my head as I left the warmth of my car and made a hasty entrance into the motel, I feigned a smile as I stepped up to the desk to obtain my key from them, “I’m just passing through, on my way for a baby shower.”<br/>
I answered the desk clerk’s invasive questions in a polite manner as they tried to get to know me, a brief guest in a drizzle of visitors.</p><p> </p><p>What was behind the urge to know everyone in these dwellings?</p><p>Could I consider it all basic politeness that was due to every human?</p><p>They couldn’t possibly know what I was by a singular glance. They were simply ordinary.</p><p> </p><p>I would only be here for only three days at the most, that’s how long it would take. To find him, his pattern and then drag him out of his dwellings and gut him like the senseless and cowardly pig he was.</p><p> </p><p>I almost felt guilty for comparing him to a pig; pigs had more character than this man.</p><p>Though, I suppose he wasn’t entirely senseless, he moved often from his crimes, never got caught and made his killings few and far between.<br/>
This time, he made an error, he slipped up. Stayed for too long to revile in the chaos that was created, he got a little sloppy. He still retained more intelligence than half of the detectives and pawns for the FBI hunting him, because he crawled away, right under their noses.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t crawl away from me, I found him and he didn’t even know.<br/>
Yet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>My routine began when I was handed my key and directed to my room.</p><p>Once I entered the ‘cozy dwellings’ as described by the advertising, I put the “do-not disturb” sign on the doorknob. Some previously have considered it peculiar how much I value the privacy and discretion in my life.<br/>
If they were inside of my skin, shared my experiences, they would understand. A man who soaked their hands in red does not leave hand prints on others uninvolved in their crimes.</p><p> </p><p>I scoured the room, began to measure and map it in my mind. I sat my travel bag down by the bed before I eased myself onto the creaking mattress, listening for how thin the walls were, how much sound would enter and escape.<br/>
I could hear the sounds from the road outside of these lodgings; it was mostly silent, no cars rumbling by. Everything was within walking distance, so I understood that people didn’t use gas unless it was completely unavoidable.</p><p> </p><p>No sounds on the road, not many people milling around. No cacophony of noise to cover up the wails of a dying man, questions would be raised.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t be here.</p><p> </p><p>I knew the home address of the man I was hunting, I knew a lot about him.</p><p>I made that my job to know him, all of his names that changed from town to town and crime to crime; his given name was Peter Martin, not a name that stuck out in a long list of names that the devil keeps.<br/>
I wondered why he never kept his name as it was given, too mundane perhaps? Did he want to strike terror into the hearts of others with a frightening name?</p><p> </p><p>Peter Martin would not be giving me that answer, that wouldn’t be the question I was asking him.</p><p>I needed to go to his home and watch him, establish his pattern the way a bee would every single day, a drone existing to serve a queen. Existing to serve the chance that a high would be waiting for him around the corner.</p><p> </p><p>Despite having just arrived to my room, I was ready to venture out into the frigid ghost town.<br/>
The prospect of a hunt, of a chase - the temptation and soft promise that I would get that depth crushing high in a manner of three days time, was enough for me to rise from my bed and leave the warmth of my lodgings behind.</p><p> </p><p>The sooner I was able to map out Oak Creek, the sooner my hunt could begin and I could move on to the next deserved high.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I stood, staring down my own reflection in the mirror that sat above the desk, trying to assure myself that I looked like one of them.<br/>
With the plaid scarf tucked tightly around my neck, leather gloves on my hands, and knit cap pulled down over my ears, I looked less of a killer than what I actually was.</p><p> </p><p>You cannot help feeling what you are in your soul; but for a brief moment of peace, your mind can let you forget what you actually are.<br/>
In the end, when it truly matters most, you will always know what you are in the darkest parts of yourself.</p><p> </p><p>I closed the door behind me, taking care to ensure that the “do-not-disturb” sign was on before I left the premise; though left nothing incriminating in my room. I kept that with me, at all times.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, I was a fond of using whatever was within reach of my hands when it came to achieving my high.<br/>
Some considered it resourceful, when I used a “Live~Laugh~Love” wooden poster to nearly sever the head of an escaped child rapist. He had struggled too much, knocked the knife from my grip. That was the closest thing I could reach.</p><p> </p><p>The snow crunched under my boots as I trudged along the slate sidewalk that led from the motel and into a graying Oak Creek, it was mostly empty save for a couple dressed in brown and tan winter clothing, too wrapped up in each other to notice that they had passed me.</p><p>I didn’t have the desire to quirk the corners of my mouth up when our eyes met for a singular second, I knew my gaze was emotionless and empty even if they didn’t register it, I did.</p><p>I found difficulty to fit warmth in my features unless I had reason to do so, a reason that would hopefully benefit me in the end, and people in love is not a reason to show warmth.<br/>
We passed each other and that was the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>I passed several stores in the area, none of which I took too much note of. Save for a diner, I would need to eat, after all.</p><p> </p><p>The sky was still as grey and callous, if not more so, from the time I arrived.<br/>
Dark skies settled over the horizon, assuring to bring fresh snow and harsh winds that burned my nose and cast tears in my eyes trying to see past the frigid breeze.</p><p> </p><p>I never particularly cared for winter, it was too bitter and gloomy.<br/>
Only one aspect of winter was appeasing to me, it was the whiteness of the snow. How undisturbed it fell, the way it gently kissed the earth and how it looked when red spattered over it.</p><p>I enjoyed writing my love notes to the earth on pure white.</p><p> </p><p>I continued down the sidewalk for a few minutes longer to take everything in, but I soon found myself looking up at a wooden sign above a shop that read, “Pages and Pawprints, a collection of books and friendly faces to keep you company”.<br/>
I don’t exactly remember what called me towards the cobblestone store that was more window than it was building, but I turned my attention to it fully. It looked almost completely desolate, but I approached it all the same as curiosity drove me more than logic.</p><p> </p><p>I knew I shouldn’t be showing my face too much in Oak Creek, thankfully satisfaction brought the curious cat, back from the dead.</p><p> </p><p>I opened the glass door, trying not to notice how the handle was shaped in a dog’s paw; I was instantly greeted by the sound of a bell ringing and a couple of subdued barks from dogs laying down, near a couple of tables and chairs.<br/>
My eyes were drawn to the six dogs lying on multiple beds that had been provided for them, they were all of different size and color and all eyes were locked onto me.</p><p> </p><p>Subtly, I wondered what I had been expecting? The owner of this store was clearly infatuated with canines and their hair, whereas, I was not. I considered turning around and leaving, though something kept me there.</p><p>Perhaps it was the warmth in contrast to the outside, I paused to loosen my scarf and unzip my jacket. I left the knit cap on, however.<br/>
The door closed behind me, ringing out the chime of a bell once more just to announce that I was still there, deciding against the thought to leave.</p><p> </p><p>My gaze remained on the dogs for a second more, but none moved to greet me. I allowed my eyes to wander until I found a man sitting behind a mahogany desk. The only one who wasn’t looking at me, but at the computer in front of him.</p><p>I moved in his direction, searching for a conversation, these trips got lonely. Save for the people I gutted; I still valued conversation I could have with people who wouldn’t remember me.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello.” The smile on my lips was immediate as I got close enough to study you.</p><p> </p><p>Your hair was dark and unkempt, tousled, forgotten about. Designed by the way you slept, heavy and slicked in sweat from what I can only assume was nightmares, if Oak Creek was always this cold.<br/>
Your head tilted up to acknowledge me, the slightest quirking of your pink lips in response to my spoken word, yet you made no move to respond to me.<br/>
Your face was almost the same as your hair, unkempt stubble and a sheen of dampness on your forehead, dark circles under your eyes. Which refused to look up at me.</p><p> </p><p>Your blue eyes didn’t settle, they looked everywhere but at me, darting around in that pretty little skull of yours. Trying to lock on something in your shop that would ground you.<br/>
I could smell a lot coming off of you. Most notably, that stink of an aftershave that made me want to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I resisted the urge because I smelled another thing rolling off of you, blatant apprehension of my person.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It would’ve strung my chest with hurt, if I cared in that way.<br/>
A quick glance to your hands, in your lap now, were shaking and fidgeting in a looped pattern, told me this is what you were always like with new people.<br/>
You got sensory overload quickly, when it came to humans, and their noises, and their energy… you liked your dogs though. That much I could see when your gaze rested on them for once.</p><p> </p><p>I wanted to push you a little bit, I wanted to stare at you and make you squirm with the weight of my gaze until your heart was racing, make you talk to me and answer my buggering questions…<br/>
At least I thought I wanted to do that. To test you, see how far you would go.</p><p> </p><p>But I didn’t. I couldn’t find it within myself to do any of that.</p><p> </p><p>I turned my body, my dark and unnerving gaze away from you, and looked into your store to try and figure out the purpose of it really was; dark bookshelves, assortments of books that were organized by color, it looked like.<br/>
The walls were a deep maroon and had pictures of people and their dogs  hanging from it, small plaques here and there.</p><p> </p><p>I found myself smiling at the ensemble, despite the disdain I held for animal hair - it seemed to complete the look. The shop was neatly kept, it was something you were proud of, something you were deeply passionate about.<br/>
I could feel your eyes on my when I turned my back to you, curiously studying the way I held myself and what I wore, too many layers for a local.<br/>
Turning my back to people wasn’t something I would consistently do to strangers, but I knew you had no reason to hurt me, that was the last thing you were capable of.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you here for?” You asked me, finally speaking. Your voice was raspy and soft but baritone in your chest, you sounded hesitant to speak because you didn’t know who I was, and I wanted to keep it like that.</p><p>To protect you, to protect myself more.</p><p> </p><p>I knew that you were used to the people in your town, you were used to a pattern that repeated itself and I disrupted it. So you were cautious and tiptoeing around me, as if you could sense what I was.<br/>
I had to assure myself that you didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>I parted my lips to answer you, politely as my mind turned back to the thought of small town people wanting to know everything, “Nothing in particular, I was exploring town-”<br/>
“You’re not from around here.” You stated sharply, prompting me to incline my head over my shoulder to look at you with a brow raised. I was smiling even if you weren’t.</p><p>You looked away, apprehensive again.<br/>
I didn’t have the time to wonder why I smiled at you, what the reason was that benefited me but it brought a blossoming warmth to my chest.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m just passing through. I thought I should find a couple of places to entertain me on my short visit.” I affirmed your suspicion of my ‘wayfaring stranger’ position.</p><p>“Oh,” You took a second to try and collect your thoughts before you spoke again, and something stutter in my beating chest as I faced you once more and saw the creases on your forehead, lips pulled into a taunt line as you considered how best to showcase the things you were passionate about.</p><p> </p><p>Your blue plaid shirt was ruffled, coated in a layer of dog hair; pushed up past your forearms, revealing pale skin and faded scarring. You had left your thick jacket and scarf somewhere else, out of reach.<br/>
My fingers twitched by my side, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by my staring, but I wanted to touch your skin and inquire how your arms earned those stripes. I remained silent until you spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“I have owned this shop for three years now and I have books imported from different countries and states, I don’t really put labels on what this space is… but you can buy the books, a-and take them home.</p><p>“Or you can read them here and put them back, s-sometimes I open it for crafts on certain day.” You explained to me, your eyes still darting around, a smile and a blush decorated your face. For a moment, you met my gaze before you were focusing on your dogs again, “My dogs are friendly as they can be, they like people and it functions as a safe space if anyone needs it.”</p><p> </p><p>As I listened to you speak about your shop, I reflected a bit internally. I concluded that the safe space you spoke of was for you, mostly. You almost looked like you were refraining from telling me every last detail detail of your beloved dogs, you instead turned the topic elsewhere.</p><p>My mind turned towards myself after a beat, I wondered what this stuttering in my chest was; it wasn’t the weight that shackled me when a potential high presented it’s face to my keen eyes.</p><p> </p><p>This was something else entirely, like my bones were made of air instead of tension. Hyper fixation sat heavy on my chest, the same way as when the blood lust dripped down my teeth, accompanying the urge hunt, the desire to know you, your soul, and everything under your skin. All of you.</p><p> </p><p>My claws would flex with the want to sink into you and hold you still, only stare into your eyes, your entirety. I wanted to look you in the eyes and see who you really were, but I didn’t meet your gaze.</p><p>I followed it to the books, to the dogs.</p><p> </p><p>This feeling was wrong. It wasn’t how I felt when the perfect prey was within the grasp of my talons; perhaps it was the desire of someone innocent, to see them bleeding.<br/>
I had not set my sights on innocence for the longest time.</p><p> </p><p>I promised Mischa that I wouldn’t dig for innocent breath or blood, ever again; but these desires made feel stuck and powerless, rooted in one spot as your words tumbled through me.<br/>
I only ever knew one way of getting that power back, to take it away from someone else. I didn’t feel the need to take it back from you, I simply let you keep it… whatever made you feel comfortable with me.</p><p> </p><p>I smiled, the corners of my eyes crinkling as you told me about the genres that you carried, several of which, I didn’t even care for.<br/>
You looked so enthused, a twinkle in your eye that mesmerized me, so I could only stand there and thank you, telling you that I would go get the books you recommended would entertain me for a spell.</p><p> </p><p>I kept my eyes on you, watching as your face lit up, you smiled and laughed softly, fingers clasping together as if you were shy or astonished that someone would listen to you.<br/>
I found that absurd, everyone would listen to your voice if given the chance. I forced myself to look away from your face, I didn’t desire to make you crawl in your skin because of my piercing gaze; somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered why that though struck my skull.</p><p> </p><p>I thanked you again and left my place at the desk, carefully stepping around the many dogs that you owned, they simply thumped their tail on the ground and I feigned a smile to them. If only for your sake.</p><p>I disappeared behind on of the shelves so you could no longer see me, and the stutter in my chest slowed down, if only just a bit while I scoured the sections to find ‘drama’, ‘mystery’ and ‘historical fiction’, neatly bunched together.</p><p> </p><p>I could consider these few genres the absolute last thing I wanted to read, but… I was going to grab the books and bring them to you anyway.<br/>
I wish my mind would give me a rational answer to why this trembling like a newborn fawn, and sudden airiness of a bird made of feathers came to me.</p><p> </p><p>I should’ve left the store when I had the chance.</p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t the blood lust that coiled within me when hunting my perfect prey, the urge then was unfiltered rage, animistic and primal. The desire to maim as best I could while, keeping my identity restricted at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>This fawn is something else that I don’t know how to care for, a different breed of blood lust that sat on my chest. I knew I would have to do a dissection on myself. I could feel it in the back of my mind, the terror of not being in control of my own emotions.<br/>
Mischa in the back of my mind, repeating the words I had said to her, the promise I made to my sister so long ago.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I sighed, defeated, as my hands pulled the four books you recommended, off the shelf and held them in my hands, close to my chest before making my way back to you.<br/>
The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Murder on the Oriental Express, The Song of Achilles and of course, Othello. Excellent choices if I were another creature.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You glanced up at me as I came back, your eyes like a lamb’s, wide and curious.<br/>
You took a second to look me over as I walked, taking me in as a whole and not a part; I was like a Victorian schoolgirl for a beat, embarrassed I had been caught bathing by the boys as they glanced in awe at me.<br/>
I wanted to clothe myself in white satin to hide prying eyes; but in a second beat, I was aware that I was fully clothed and dressed for winter in this dreary town of Oak Creek, standing in front of you.</p><p>Nowhere close to what my mind’s eye provided me.<br/>
It was jarring to say the least, I almost faltered in my movements under your vision.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Your scrutiny lasted for less than five seconds, eyes finally returning to your computer screen, waiting for me to set the books down on the desk so you could ring up the price.</p><p> </p><p>I didn’t even want these books in the first place, yet you looked joyous that they were in my arms, “I recommend, if you read anything, read The Song of  Achilles first, before you leave town…”<br/>
You seemed to hesitate on what you wanted to say next, twitchy fingers collecting the books and stacking them neatly, “No-one ever wants to discuss the meaning of it, both within the book or the actual myth.”</p><p> </p><p>You left it open ended, for me. My eyes locked on your wrist, skin pale and almost ashen, and your long fingers stimming below it.<br/>
I knew what you wanted, what I was made you curious the same way I had been when I first slunk into your shop. You wanted to find out more about the stranger in your building, like everyone else in Oak Creek.</p><p>But you were more forward about it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I can come in the day after tomorrow.” My lips parted and my mouth spoke before my mind could finally catch up and remind myself… what rules I was breaking by even offering such an absurd thing.</p><p> </p><p>I blinked, my first solution was to stay away from you, to fight this stutter in my chest and whatever craving I had for an innocent’s blood. If this even was a craving.<br/>
I answered your unspoken question and you were a deer in headlights because I gave you exactly what you wanted, you slowly looked up at me, your curls brushed loosely over your forehead and your fingers twitched in uncertainty.</p><p> </p><p>“If you want to talk about the book,” I continued, knowing there was no way I could step back now with my dignity and your feelings intact.<br/>
My voice was strained like something was strangling me when I spoke - something invisible to you, but completely seen to me, “I enjoy a lively discussion from time to time.” I offer so it wouldn’t be worse than it was, but I don’t believe it helped the situation.</p><p> </p><p>You stared at me, mouth agape while my chest sunk to the depths against my wishes; then your lips twitched into a smile, “Okay… it’s nice to speak to new people.” Your voice was soft as you accepted my invitation that you prodded from me.<br/>
My throat tighten in response, I wanted to verbally agree with you even if I didn’t believe it, I nodded instead to you. I offered to speak with you even though I knew I shouldn’t, I had prey to stalk, catch and gore.</p><p> </p><p>I had to dissect this stumbling fawn inside of me.</p><p>Where would I find the delicate time to speak to you?</p><p>And why did the thought of not getting the chance, fill my lungs with inescapable breath?</p><p> </p><p>The sooner I left this village and claimed my prize, the sooner I would feel normal again.<br/>
I always hated the winter, things were always different and difficult, the ground refused to let things rot no matter how long they had been there.</p><p>The amount I owed you for the books I didn’t even want, tumbled from your mouth to distract my thoughts, and I hastily dug into my pockets, pulling out a wad of cash and thrusting it over to you. I hadn’t been listening to you at this point, I just wanted out of this store to cool my buzzing mind. </p><p>I needed to retreat from the public and your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s only twenty-one ninety,” your voice broke through my fog, confusion an undertone in your soft voice.<br/>
I blinked in an attempt to get my head right, before I took the money you offered back to me, wanting the right amount because you were a small store who couldn’t cash a hundred dollar bill.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my apologies.” I ran through the notes, finding as close as it could get to the total, giving thirty dollars back to you, “Keep the rest.” I struggled out while I gathered my books in my arms and turned for the door.<br/>
My pathetic attempt to get away in a haste as if a hunter was on my bleeding trail, though your voice cut me short like a gunshot in a silent forest, “I’m Will, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>I stopped, my gloved hand on the handle to the door.<br/>
I took one moment to look back at you, your cheeks blushing pink and lips turned upward in the smallest smile as you forced yourself to watch me for my reaction.<br/>
I let out a shaky breath, preparing myself to break yet another a rule that I set many years previous to keep myself and innocents safe… did it even matter now?<br/>
“I’m Hannibal, it’s nice to meet you, Will.”</p><p> </p><p>“Likewise.” You responded immediately, leaving me with your parting smile and I quickly took my leave of Pages and Pawprints, heading back the way I came from, back to my motel where I could brood over the interaction that just passed. Dissect this new, tumbling fawn</p><p> </p><p>I furiously growled under my breath as I walked through the cold, books pressed tightly to my chest and the lingering scent of that horrible aftershave from you, following me all the way to the supposed comfort of my room.<br/>
I needed a kill to get you off of my mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Unfortunately, this is my new obsession for the time being.<br/>I also have this particular work on my tumblr under the same name, so look me up!</p><p>Because I don't know how to link on here!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>